It's All In The Wrist!
by Blessed Are The Sick
Summary: A simple argument flares up into the ultimate contest of wills. The final theater of the War of Transgression is fought not in the skies above Cocoon, but over a table inside of a make-shift base camp. One-shot. FangSnow friendship.


a/n: it's probably not all in the wrist but it's a more interesting (and less 'duh'-worthy) title than 'it's all in the arm'.

_**/It's All In The Wrist!**_

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Fang, fully expecting to be staring down the mouth of one of Pulse's many ravenous beasts each morning, strived to live each increasingly perilous moment on the edge. Each day, Fang required a proper diet of adrenaline to keep her body in check, just as she needed food, water, and a little space for a few days each month. PSICOM? Small fry. Pulsework drones? Breakfast. Summoning Bahamut in mid-air, latching onto its back, and riding down the surface of Gran Pulse? A twelve course meal.

She couldn't help wondering, though: if she was supposed to be reining life up by the horns, then why was she having a three-thousand mile long pissing contest with Snow?

"Cocoon fal'Cie are totally stronger than Pulse fal'Cie! Admit it!"

"Are you serious? A Pulse fal'Cie would eat up each and every one of your little Cocoon fal'Cie, and still have room for seconds. Hell, an Adamantoise could take one out with a flick of its tail."

Fang wasn't too sure about her claims, but she just found it funny to see Snow so riled up.

Snow shook his head. "No way! We kicked your butts in the War of Transgression!"

"You gotta be kidding me." Fang put her elbow to the make-shift table, pointing her index finger straight at Snow. "Look here, you blond-haired little womprat, if the Pulse fal'Cie would have been even remotely trying, Cocoon would have been crushed like an eggshell in the palm of my hand."

"But they didn't! We whooped you guys, and you're just too stubborn to ― "

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sazh stumbled over towards the table, slamming both hands down onto the wood, his chest heaving in and out as he panted. "Are you guys still on this? Really?"

"Tell _her _that Cocoon fal'Cie are stronger!"

"Tell _him _that Pulse fal'Cie would eat Cocoon fal'Cie for breakfast!"

Sazh waved his hands in surrender. "Oh no. No way. I'm not in this." His eyes shot over to Snow, and then trailed back to Fang. "Since when did you guys become fal'Cie cheerleaders, anyway? They're kind of our enemies, if you haven't noticed."

Fang searched her surroundings. Hope was sitting by the fire-spit, cooking some meat that Lightning had skewered earlier today. Lightning sat with her back against a rock, with a hand over her forehead, and _'I can't believe I hang out with these people' _written across her face. And Vanille. The damn girl hadn't come to her defense once. She simply sat beside of Snow, sleeping with her head cradled into her forehead. So much for defending one's home turf.

Then, an idea flashed through Fang's mind. She'd put an end to this conversation, and score some loot in the process. Perfect.

"Alright, big man, how about a contest? Pulse l'Cie versus Cocoon l'Cie." Fang took a sack of coins from her side, slinging him down onto the table. Golden circles wheeled across wood, before rattling into their resting places. "Put your money where your mouth is."

"If only," Sazh said.

"Alright." Snow dug through his pockets, grinning big as put his coins on the line. "Winner take all."

"That's the only way I play, love."

"You guys _do _know the very concept of money is useless since we're, you know, on _Pulse?_ And even if we weren't, it would still be useless, since we're _wanted criminals?_" Sazh asked.

Snow ignored him. "Alright! What's the game!"

Fang tensed her fingers, bending them into a half-formed fist. "Arm wrestle. Elbows flat on the table."

Snow punched his right fist in his left palm, a pompous sneer slicing his face. "You gotta be kidding me. This is gonna be cake."

"Sure is. For me."

"No way." Snow smacked his elbow into the table, sending shock waves through the table, rattling coins and bringing cracks up to meet them. "Let's do this."

They brought their palms together, and squeezed. Sweat streamed down Snow's brow, his teeth locked tighter than Lightning's panties. Fang could practically feel the man's pulse; powerful and rapid, like the heart of a Behemoth.

Snow made the opening move, trying to bend Fang's arm to his will. The force of Snow's muscle rattled through Fang's arm, oscillating her shoulder, sending waves throughout her entire body. Fang retaliated. She countered with her own muscle, her biceps rising from the smooth fold of her skin. Veins popped from Snow's arm, racing up his arm and across his wrist, as beads of sweat rode along them like highways. For a time, Snow's arm seemed no more movable than the landscape around them. The battle between Pulse l'Cie and Coccon l'Cie had reached a stalemate.

And then Fang started _actually _trying.

Against Fang's strength, Snow's arm might as well have been made of tissues and popsicle sticks. Snow's arm put up one final resistance, managing to push Fang's arm about a tenth of the way up before being crushed into defeat, the loud smack of hand against wood signaling Fang's victory louder than any trumpet.

The dumbstruck gaze in Snow's eye was almost enough of a prize for Fang. Almost. "H..how?" Snow flexed his right bicep, frantically pointing towards it with his left, before turning the jab of his finger towards Fang's lack of obvious muscle. "How?"

"I just got more strength than you, love." Fang stretched her arm, windmilling it around the fulcrum of her shoulder. "There's more to strength than muscle. It's all in the wrist."

"This isn't over!" Snow pressed his elbow flat against the table. "Do over! Two out of three! Winner take all!"

Fang sighed. "Fine by me. But I'm telling you, it's not going to turn out any different."

"It will this time! I know it!"

Despite Snow's efforts, this minor flare-up in the War of Trangression concluded with a series of humiliating defeats on the side of Cocoon. Although the actual loss was only around two-thousand gil, Fang feared that Snow's dignity was worth a great deal more.

Oh well. Two-thousand gil spoke volumes more than Snow's bruised ego.

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**END/**


End file.
